


Dead Cities

by Nagiru



Category: Shin Megami Tensei: Devil Survivor 2
Genre: Everything went wrong after Polaris, I'm ignoring the Triangulum arc, There might be some characters' deaths, and probably angst, and there'll be alot of dead people (apocalypse AU), but there'll be no zombies, just demons, post-apocalypse au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-02
Updated: 2016-01-02
Packaged: 2018-05-11 01:56:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5609512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nagiru/pseuds/Nagiru
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Polaris and returning the world, they all thought there would be peace. Those who were still alive all knew better know. There will never be real peace.</p>
<p>[Or, the Apocalypse AU that popped up for no reason after 1:00 am, where demon tamers dying makes demons roam free and end the world we know]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dead Cities

**Author's Note:**

> For now, this might be... a first chapter or a prologue of a new story of mine. Or it might just stay this way.  
> So, notes: if there's any continuation, there'll be slash (Yamato/Hibiki), but right now it's more of a gen fic. Adding to it: if I continue it, there'll be some more explanations, as this single chapter is really confusing.  
> So, it's checked as "complete" for now, but this will probably be a multi-chaptered story. Tell me what you would prefer, please.

A hooded figure walked among crumbles of what seemed to had once been a city, face darkened by the pulled hood of his clothes, eyes hidden of the outside world. His eyes showed nothing, even for those who could see it; he would have been sad once… but nowadays was just so usual to see ruins of _countries_ every day that he just couldn’t feel anything about it. He was lonely, of course, but that’s about how far it goes. He was just _used_ to it.

Now he looked around, watching the countless changes of what had once been a great city, tall buildings crumbled on the ground, old walls covered by moss and ivy, dirty path covered by stones and, sometimes, bones. It wasn’t normal to find a bone, however, seeing as those who hunted all humans so long ago devoured _everything_ , including bones, and those who were found around were usually from a bigger animal, with too large bones to be eaten. And those were things that no normal people should know about — but then, he wasn’t normal anymore.

Ten years ago, after an ordeal that devoured almost the whole world, leaving just about three cities remaining at the end of a single week, and not even these were whole anymore, the world rewrote itself to survive. To be more than it was before.

And it succeeded. Powers unimaginable, as big as those that almost destroyed the world arose around the globe. People who could manage them were rare, but not unknown, and there was a study about it. Searches for those who could use it, for those who were thought to be “chosen”. A couple of those “chosen” people, however, understood what it really was, having survived the hellish week that changed minds, and those who understood knew it was no good to have powerful people knowing about it. Because those who understood feared about the fate of the world. Feared for another ordeal that they weren’t sure they would be able to survive again.

Another ordeal they weren’t sure they wouldn’t be the _reason_ for it to exist.

Doctors looked for people who were going missing all around the world, trying to understand them, trying to recreate those powers. That was the beginning of a witch-hunt, where people should always fear for their life, always be aware of those who stared at them for too long, always be ready to run at the smallest signal. That was when he, who stood still right now, in the middle of a town he once called home, locked himself from the world, ran away from everyone he once loved and tried to protect them, because he knew what he was, and he knew what that would bring. He knew what would once come for him.

And he didn’t fear it. Not after spending a week fighting it, trying to understand it was _real_. Not after he felt so _empty_ when the world was back to what it used to be, because he had felt _alive_ while on the ordeal. While he had to fight for his life and for the lives of those he held dear. While he had stood beside people who understood him, who fought with him, who survived with him. People who dreamed, and who fought for their dreams. People he had to fight against, people he invited to his side again and again, people he protected knowing they would try to protect him too. People he came to love. People he run away from, run away _for_.

He could not stand in a place where he would put those he loved in danger. He could not stand to watch those he loved to be hurt, to be killed, just because he had been chosen again, just because he had such a “strong will” that always brought doom to _everything_. So he had packed as little as possible, asserted his “new” powers, and ran as far away as possible, looking to be alone so he could never be the reason to anyone’s death (again).

So, ten years later, when he couldn’t find anyone else anymore, he understood it hadn’t worked. Because he hadn’t been the only one that had been chosen the second time, he hadn’t been the only source of danger, the only subject doctors would try to study. He hadn’t been the only possible sacrifice for a new change.

He had only been the one subject that _escaped_. The one chosen who _survived_ , again. He just hadn’t been the _only_ to _exist_.

Now, however, he understood it too well. Having been so far away, he couldn’t really know all that happened, but he understood that people would always crave for power, and that scientists would never remember that those they studied were _people_ , humans like them, and they just _shouldn’t_ do it. They just wanted to understand — it was for a “greater good”, after all.

They never realized how wrong they were. Not before those they studied lost control for the first time and they ended _dead_ in their cleaner-than-white labs, blood staining their studies. He had noticed it — he had noticed how some people still tried to study them, but how everyone else tried to _get rid of them_ , tried to rid themselves of the danger.

And he had watched one of those impossible tries, he had watched as a person, a human being, shot a bullet against another person’s head, calling them _“monster”_ , bringing forward a whole new level of nightmares. Creatures that rose from the dead body, laugher cracking on the air, eyes filled with bloodlust. Creatures that used weapons heavier than guns, messier than guns, creatures that attacked without hesitation. Creatures that _ate_ their victims, crying victory when the body existed no more, even bones disappearing down their throats.

He had watched all that incapable of helping either of those humans, because he _was one of them_. He didn’t even know if he was only a “chosen-one” or another of those creatures by that point, long seven years gone by in hiding, all his company being of those few wanderers that came too close to his new “home”. A home he couldn’t call home, for he didn’t live there, he only _survived_ there. Not only that, but after long seven years of bonding with the power that consisted of being exactly that what the human had called his partner “chosen”: of being a monster.

Because those creatures that devoured whole humans, those creatures that came when they lost control, those creatures that killed all those scientist and doctors, those creatures that sought only _blood_ — those creatures _were_ their power. And what were the chosen-ones if not their power?

So he had watched and had felt as something died inside him. Because he _knew_ he should help them — any of them —, but he just _hadn’t_. Because he didn’t feel like himself anymore, and maybe he wasn’t, because it had been so long since the last time he had managed to live a day, and not survive it, and because he had been past caring at that point. While he _knew_ he should want to save a person, he just hadn’t _felt_ it, having been alone for so long he just couldn’t really care for any person anymore.

He wasn’t feeling like a human. He wasn’t feeling like the person he had once been. He wasn’t even feeling like he should stay alive. All he felt was that he couldn’t really die, because if there was anyone he had cared for still alive, _now_ was the time to find them; to find them and protect them. And he barely remembered their faces anymore, but he still heard their names every time he slept, nightmares plaguing him with everything that should have stayed behind but hadn’t. With things long gone, with thing that would never come back. With things as superficial as a laugher, or the feeling of confusion, or a wound that had been healed magically, or even a _promise_. And, while he feared falling asleep every night, those nightmares were so _alive_ he found himself envying those memories, because there he had been someone, and there he had _loved_ , and just _felt_ something, while now he was only a shell of something thrown away.

He just wanted to care so _badly_! He was long past feeling anything when he finally left his land of nowhere and decided it was time to make his way back to where had once lived everyone he loved. Ten years after running away from his country, he now came back to a land once called “Japan”, searching for some _reason_ , for some _feeling_ , just so he could find himself. Ten years after a cowardly run (and no matter how many times he tried to remember that it hadn’t been fear for himself, but for those he loved, he couldn’t really believe it anymore) he came back looking for a way to be alive, for a single soul he could care for.

Months traveling — sometimes making the way on foot, sometimes on the back of those same creatures that were bound to someday roam free and finish the job of conquering this world —, he had yet to find any human. He had seen a lot of fallen cities, a lot of places that he remembered seeing crowded and so full of life; he had seen bones, and creatures, and blood, and nature taking back what had once been its. And he hadn’t felt remorse. Or sadness. He had only felt some emptiness, some distant kind of loneliness, and something that could be called failure. Because he couldn’t find anything. Anything that would make him better. Anything that could _fix_ him.

He couldn’t find _anyone_. Not even on the remains of the city he once called “Tokyo” he could feel scent of human life. All he felt was the energy of creatures roaming around the deserted place, and something so strange he couldn’t name — and something odd inside him. Something he hadn’t felt in a very long time.

Something alike… _hope_. For a moment, his eyes widened and he looked around in search of the source of this new feeling. He could feel his heart, for so long numb, beating faster, and an urge to start walking that didn’t came from awareness, but from desire. He could feel _something_. Something that wasn’t really human, but that _definitely_ wasn’t creature. Wasn’t _demon_. And that mere thought brought a smile to his face, hands coming up to run through his hair under the bunny hood. He had _hope_. He, maybe, could find _someone_. And maybe it wouldn’t be someone he once loved, but it could be someone he could _come_ to love, and that was so much more than he had ever hoped for after so long hiding that it made him almost start a run when he started moving again, following his instincts.

He _would_ find someone and he just knew it.

At the last few meters, his pace became faster, any thought of caution disappearing from his mind. He was running now, and his hood flew back, bunny ears-like falling down his back, dull blue eyes shining with things he couldn’t even remember. At this little distance, he could _feel_ who it was, and it was just _amazing_. It really _was_ a person, and someone _like him_. Someone plagued with these powers that had managed to _survive_ these long years. Someone who was now alone, and should be just as eager as he was to find someone.

Not only that — but someone he _knew_. Someone to which he once made promises, someone he had fought alongside with. Someone he had not only cared for, but someone he had once loved, because it was someone that stayed by his side on the ordeal, and that had been enough back then.

It should be enough now. More than enough. It should be _welcomed_ , because they were both survivors, and that was just so _rare_ …

He came to a halt before the ruins of a big sized building, and he knew what to look for. He went by what once had been a door, and searched for an underground entry, knowing there must have been stairs that made their way down for when the elevator wouldn’t work. He knew the stairs would probably be in pieces, stones blocking its way, but whatever was left of it should be enough, because he _knew_ that this person was hiding underground, at what he had once used as headquarters, where he had once slept in.

At a place once called JP’s, where a lot of those who later gained power, where a lot of those who had been able to fight on the ordeal had stayed and been fed in. Where a lot of _“demon tamers”_ had resided while fighting demons and stars alike, fighting for the future of a world that had promised so _much_ … For the future that became so much alike what it had been back there — except, this time there was no Void to hasten things up and take people with little pain.

He made his way down so quickly he almost fell on a hole by the middle of the stairs, and he almost tripped over a big rock by the exit, but he just couldn’t help himself.

He was here. At the room where they met. He was here, looking at him with sharp purple eyes, looking as well as he had back when he was seventeen and the chief of a governmental organization made to fight against supernatural threats. Looking as smart and strong-willed as when he had ordered his (and his friends’) imprisonment just because they _might_ use their power wrongly. Looking as knowledgeably wise as he had when he asked him about where his power came from… But so much worldly wise than he had when he asked him what takoyakis were.

And the single memory of encouraging him to eat something so normal back when the world _was_ normal was enough to make him skip all pleasantries and dash directly to the other body, crashing together gracelessly and crashing on the floor when he just hadn’t been able to control his strength.

“Hibiki.”, a voice he never thought he would hear again breathed against his face, and it was so familiar, even after all these years, that he laughed. It wasn’t a pleasant laugh; it wasn’t a happy laugh. It was a tired, broken laugh accompanied of some dry sobs and a soreness on his eyes from coming tears.

He was here. Yamato was here. Yamato was here and _he wasn’t alone anymore._

Because of all that, he breathed back; _“Yamato.”_

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I would be happy if you like it. I still wanna know what you'd prefer: this to be a oneshot, or to be a multi-chaptered story (remembering that, as a multi-chapter, it will be slash Yamato/Hibiki. And less vague).  
> Please, leave your opinions. I'm open to criticism, as long as it's useful, and not just hate.  
> (if you find anything too wrong in the chapter, please, let me know. I don't have a beta and I'm a non-English speaker)


End file.
